


Romance Ain't Dead

by JustAWinchesterGirl



Series: SPN/Reader Oneshots [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, I wrote it a while ago so I'm not too fond of it anymore but hopefully someone likes it, Slight Smut, locked in a room fic, not my best but I'm gonna post it anyway, they play 20 questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAWinchesterGirl/pseuds/JustAWinchesterGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You get locked in a room with Dean while hunting a witch and in an attempt to keep yourselves busy some truths slip that bring you two closer together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romance Ain't Dead

You want to say “I told you so”, but the look on Dean’s face keeps your mouth shut.

It had been an _obvious_ trap set by the witch that you were hunting that had gotten you and Dean locked in this tiny, dark storage room together when you’re supposed to be meeting up with Sam outside to take the bitch down. You’d told him this building was completely abandoned, that the noises of distress he said he was hearing were an illusion- but he had come barrelling in anyway and you’d been forced to follow so he didn’t get his ass killed or something.

Honestly, you should’ve just let him go in on his own. You’d had about enough of working with Dean Winchester. He’s cocky, and stubborn, and he doesn’t seem to take you very seriously.

Yeah, okay, so he and his brother had saved the world a couple times- but that didn’t give him the right to act like a Grade A Jerk.

Of course, he could be really sweet, too. He always knew just what to say when it really mattered, and he cared more fiercely than anyone you had ever seen. Mostly about his brother- but for you, too, and even complete strangers. Most hunters you knew were just in the game for revenge- but Dean _cared_ about every single person he saved. And as mentioned before… that was the whole world.

It kind of infuriated you. Every time he did something that ticked you off and you thought maybe you could finally leave, he did something sweet and made you remember why you cared about him in the first place.

The thing is- Dean is actually a pretty great guy, you just hate hunting with him. And that’s all you are- hunting partners, for about 4 months now. You’d helped Sam and Dean out with a demon a little while back and one job led to another and you’d just never left. You wanted to, you could just never find the right time. You didn’t want to care about these boys, you didn’t want to care about _anybody_. When you care, you have more to lose, and in this line of work it was so easy to lose it.

“Sam! Sam! Hey!” Dean yells, banging on the door loudly.

“He can’t hear you, Dean, he’s outside, remember?” you sigh.

“You got a better way to get us out of here?” he snaps.

“The door isn’t _locked_ , genius, it’s magicked shut. Look! There isn’t even a doorknob, or hinges! I’m not even sure what you’re banging on is the same door that’s on the other side of the wall. Even if Sam _could_ hear you, I’m not sure there’s much he could do to open it,” you say calmly.

He looks at you like you’re crazy, “Well, what the hell else am I supposed to do?”

“Not waste your energy on things that won’t work, for one,” you say, sliding down the wall to sit, “Hopefully Sam figures it out.”

“Really? That’s it? _Hopefully Sam figures it out_?” he asks.

You shrug, “What else can we do, Dean?”

“Not die in here, is what!” he growls and goes back to shouting and banging on the door.

You sigh, giving up, leaning your head back against the wall and closing your eyes. You let him go on for a little while before you speak again.

“You’re giving me a headache,” you say as he attempts to break the door down.

“Oh, I’m sorry, _Princess_ , but I don’t see you trying to save us!”

“And how’s that working out for you?” you ask, cracking one eye open to look at him.

He looks like he wants to give you some witty retort, but his face falls in defeat and he sinks down to sit in front of you, “So… we just wait then?”

You nod, closing your eyes again.

“What if Sam…” he starts quietly, but he can’t even finish the thought.

“Hey,” you say sternly, “No. Don’t play the what if game. You know Sam better than anyone- you think this is something he can’t handle?”

“Of course he can handle it,” Dean says.

“Exactly,” you say, “So just wait.”

You fall into silence for a little while, but Dean is restless. You can tell he’s not used to not being able to do anything.

“How long we been in here?” he asks after a while.

“About half an hour,” you guess.

“Jesus,” he groans, “Come on, Sam, what is taking so long?”

He’s agitated, and you think, afraid maybe. Afraid was not an emotion you’d ever seen on Dean before.

“Why don’t we do something to get your mind off it?” you offer, not wanting to see him like this anymore.

“Like what?” he raises an eyebrow at you.

You shrug, “Talk? Play a game?”

“Make out?” he suggests, smirking.

You laugh, “Keep dreaming, Winchester.”

He frowns, “This is like the beginning of every porno ever,” he grumbles.

“Well call me a sucker, but I don’t believe that romance is dead,” you say, slightly amused, “What about twenty questions?”

“What are we, twelve?” he laughs.

“I’d say strip poker, but I haven’t got a deck of cards, have you?” you retort.

“Fine,” he chuckles, “Shoot then. You first.”

You smile sourly, “Why are you such a dick to me?”

He laughs in one short burst, like a bark, and smirks at you, “I’m a dick to everyone, babe, don’t take it personally.”

“But you’re not,” you say, “you’re really sweet. Even to me sometimes. But then you go and say something stupid again. Why do you do that?”

“I’m a guy,” he shrugs, trying to cop out, “You only get one question, Y/N.”

“Fine,” you grumble, “Your turn.”

“What’s your favourite color?” he asks, surprising you.

“Green,” you answer without thinking.

“Green,” he repeats, smirking, “Since when?”

“That’s two questions,” you point out.

“Alright,” he concedes, getting comfortable, sprawled out on his back on the hard cement floor, “Go.”

“Answer my last question. Why the mood swings with me?”

He sighs and stares up at the ceiling, “’Cause you’re everything I could so easily fall in love with, and I don’t want to.”

You’re taken by surprise, but you don’t show it. “Your turn,” you mutter quietly.

“Why’d you stay?” he asks seriously, turning slightly sideways to look at you and those deep green eyes gaze into yours intensely, echoing his question.

“Because I don’t know how to leave,” you tell him honestly.

He, too, takes your confession without a hint of surprise, and you wonder if he’s just acting, like you are. He grunts in response and motions for you to go.

“If you weren’t trying so hard to push me away, would you be in love with me already?” you ask.

He laughs humourlessly, “Honey, I’m failing at pushing you away. I _am_ in love with you. I’ve just been waiting for you to bolt. Because you will bolt. And if you don’t, you’ll die.”

You nod, “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

He laughs again, sitting up to face you, “So I guess we’re on the same page then. This is a stupid idea.”

“Yeah it is,” you breathe.

“So maybe we should stop leaning in to kiss each other, then,” he whispers.

“We definitely should,” you murmur.

But then your lips meet and he smiles under the kiss and mutters, “Fuck that,” before his hand tangles in your hair and he’s pulling you closer to kiss you passionately.

Your arms wrap around his neck and he pulls you practically into his lap as you kiss, lips never parting as you crawl on top of him.

“Mm, Y/N?” he mumbles into your mouth.

“Hm?”

“Are we gonna have sex in a dirty store room?” he asks.

“Why, is it fancier than you’re used to?” you joke.

He laughs, “Just making sure you want to do this, sweetheart. A love confession isn’t exactly consent to fuck you on a dirty cement floor.”

“Ever the gentleman,” you mutter against his skin where you’re trying to suck a mark, “I was thinking against the wall.”

“Done and done, sweetheart,” he growls, standing and lifting you with him as he goes.

Your fingers fiddle with his belt and button, finally getting them open and pulling his cock out and he moans softly at your touch and then chuckles at your eagerness.

You slip your jeans off and Dean only gets a minute to appreciate your body before you’re sliding your panties off too and hooking one leg over his hip.

“Damnit, Y/N, can we enjoy this?” he chuckles.

“You want Sam to find us before we’re even done?” you ask.

“And you said romance wasn’t dead,” he mutters, slipping his fingers inside you and grinning at your sharp gasp and quiet moan.

Slowly, he pumps his fingers in and out of you until you’re bucking against his hand.

“Hey!” you retort, “If you, _ah_ … wanted… the, _ah_ , the perfect first time, _ah! Dean!_... you shouldn’t have… confessed your love for me in a… in a store room. _Fuck!_ Just fuck me already, Winchester!”

His grin widens and he grabs your other thigh to hold both of your legs around his waist, sliding his fingers out and pushing his jeans down a bit more so he can comfortably slide into you.

He fucks you just as slow and teasing as his fingers had been, but you can tell by his face that it’s hard for him to keep control too.

“Harder, Dean, I ain’t gonna break!” you groan into his shoulder.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moans in response, picking up the pace and fucking you roughly against the wall.

“Ah! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck, Dean!” you moan, digging your fingers into his back and biting down on his shoulder.

“Almost there, baby,” he says.

“Fuck, me too,” you pant.

“Come for me, baby,” he rasps in your ear and it’s the hottest request he’s ever given you and you can’t help but obey, legs shaking and moaning loudly as you come around him.

He follows suit, coming inside you and you tighten your legs around his waist to hold him close to you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he pants, pulling out, “That was some quickie.”

You laugh, “See, romance ain’t dead, it’s just a little impatient sometimes.”

“You gonna bolt?” he asks quietly after a minute.

“Nah,” you admit, “Guess I’ll die.”

“That’s not funny.”

You shrug, “That’s the life. Maybe you’ll die instead.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, “How about neither of us die?”

“You got a deal, Mr. Winchester,” you smirk, pulling your clothes back on.

You hear a throat clear and you both turn to see Sam standing at the open door, looking uncomfortable.

“Sam! How’d you get us out?” Dean asks.

“The spell quit when I killed the witch,” he tells you, face red and not wanting to meet your eyes, “Looks like I should’ve waited a few more minutes.”

Dean laughs, “That’s generally considerate,” he says, slapping his brother on the shoulder before pushing past him.

You shrug, “Well that hunt went much better than I’d expected.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work, I wrote it quite a long time ago and wasn't too happy with it even then, but I thought I'd post it anyway because you never know if other people might enjoy it! I hope you like it, anyway! :)


End file.
